4 June
That bargirl from the other night. She came up to me today, as I was playing the statue. Girl I say but more like a young man with her cricketer’s stride, hands in trouser pockets. That’s how she approaches, and then she stands in front of me, never minding that a couple of young boys are there, about to make me move. She elbows them to one side then stares so hard at me she freaks them and they skedaddle. Meanwhile I’m still standing there, still. Usually, I can’t look over the person looking me over — being looked at makes it impossible to do any looking yourself. Like being onstage when the footlights blind you to the individual members of the audience. But this bird spends so long in front of me, drops so many coins into my tin, that with each move I’m able to take in a bit more, until I get a sense of the whole of her. Which is, strong and determined like a Channel swimmer. One from the 1920s. Tall, flat-chested, severe bob. And those ears! A boat with its oars out, I thought. Something paddle-ish
Paddle-ish!
Something paddle-ish about her shape too. Something Edwardian about her. But she’s young, my age. And so the young Edwardian man-woman
Man-woman!
the young Edwardian woman stands in front of me for quite a while, giving me this funny look. Different funny to the other night, but still funny. Head to one side, smile lopsided like it’s about to slip off her face altogether, looking for all the world like she’s expecting something, like she’s waiting for me to do something she’s known all along I was about to do. That annoyed me, and I wanted to wrongfoot her. So I gave her the Seven Deadly Sins. When she dropped in her change, I moved into a different position. More coins. Again, I moved position. I gave her several versions of Lust. The one where I look like a gargoyle. The ones from the convent I used to commune with during mass. She didn’t seem impressed. Or unimpressed. It was as if she was expecting me to assume a particular pose, and, when I didn’t, felt the need to keep paying up until I moved into the exact position that would satisfy her. What this position was, I never knew, cos after an hour or so of this, I saw her pat her pockets and look at me sadly. I knew from her gestures and sorry expression that she’d run out of money, and I knew too she’d come back. And it was funny, I realized as she walked away, never looking back as she loped off in that way of hers, how she’d communicated all this to me without a single word.
5 June
Yesterday she came back. I gave her Pride every time. Hand on hip, chin tilted, and, as I turned my cheek, I thought I saw the wardrobe girl, Tamara, passing through the crowd. I hope not. She’s having a thing with Jack and doesn’t like me. She’s bound to tell on me.
6 June
That strange girl came back this morning. But this time, she just put down a crate of her own, painted white in contrast to mine, positioned herself in front of me, in my direct line of sight, face a foot from my face, and stood still as a statue herself. Copying my exact pose. For the full twenty-seven minutes she was there — according to the clock tower — passers-by just kept passing by, staring, to be sure, but at her, instead of me. No one stopped to put money in my tin. Don’t know if they found the whole scene too strange or too intimate — it felt both — they just walked straight past me and my odd, inverse shadow. She was dressed all in white, gauzy white fabric like paper with the light shining through it. And her face all smeared in black boot polish! Between us, this channel of silence, despite the mad noise of the crowd all around. But though we stood in identical poses, and though I now had a clear image of her, I still felt like it was her looking at me, because, I suppose, the rules of our game meant that she could, if she chose, move any time she liked. But also, there was something — what’s that word from the Commandments — covetous? — something about her stare, trying to claim me, her look pinning me as though she was a butterfly collector and me a brittle and unwieldy specimen. There was a kind of effort in her stare. Then, abruptly, she broke out of her position, stepped down, picked up her crate and strode briskly off. And it really was like she’d pinned me in place, because I realized, after she had left my line of vision, that I would have run after her, had I been able. And this bothered me. Me, who never runs after anyone.
What a joy to transcribe from Damaris’ diary!
8 June
Fuck fuck fuck. He only caught me! Didn’t see him till it was too late. I was looking out for her. When he came out of nowhere I really did fucking freeze. His face went as white as mine in mime. We open tonight, he says, You’ll need your rest, and sends me back to the b’n’b telling me, We will talk about this later. So I’m lying here now picking at the bobbly bedspread, supposedly resting up for tonight, half of me wondering what the fuck he’s going to do about all this — if he gets me kicked off the American tour! — while the other half wonders if she came back to find me this afternoon.
9 June
We opened last night. Full house. We went down well but we won’t know what’s what till the papers tomorrow, if there’s even any mention of us. He was completely satisfied with my performance. And I don’t mean by that that I was satisfactory, more that everything he was hoping for, I did. I felt that even on stage, but he could hardly look me in the face when he told me as much afterwards. Not after running into me in the street like that. I have betrayed him. Made a fool of him for the second time in two weeks. Afterwards, we had drinks in the theatre bar. I looked for her, but she was not there. Instead this Orcadian chick with those faraway fisherman’s eyes some have. I asked about her colleague, a bit embarrassed when describing her, and she says, Oh you mean Evie. She’s away looking after her da. She wasn’t able to tell me any more. So I invited her to come and have drinks with us. But she was shy of me as pretty girls often are, and said she couldn’t, she was working. D came down later, said how much he’d loved the show. I noticed the kinds of looks he attracted, and the look he gave in response. Acknowledging their acknowledgement of his fame, as though it was he who had recognized them. And it made me think of her. Evie. That look she gave me that first night. As though she knew me.
10 June
So this is how he’s getting his revenge. He’s using the reviews as an excuse. Some are cautious, some are catty, some are raving. And one was smutty. I didn’t look virginal enough to play the title role, ha!
Ha!
He thinks what the reviews are saying is that something is missing. He wants to freak ’em all out, he says. So this is what he’s done: in the mornings, we’re rehearsing the whole show again, with me as the boy and Jack as the girl. I have to forget my part and learn Jack’s and vice versa. Everyone else has to play to me where they played to Jack and vice versa. Unlearn in order to create he says, with a foxy smile, aimed straight at me. The cheese weasel. We both know what this is about.
16 June
Exhausted. Sleep walked through rehearsals. He says I’m miming being a mime. Ha. Ha.
17 June
Today in rehearsals, when me and Jack were tripping up on bits of our old roles that remain like debris in our memories, he said again, Unlearn to create! Unlearn to create! No, I screamed. DESTROY! I screamed louder, DESTROY TO CREATE. Then I kicked a jug of water across the stage which smashed hysterically, and I walked out.